You girls won’t get this, so you might as well stop reading. Peeing when you’re a girl is easy. Maybe it’s no less messy than standing up to pee, but it’s certainly contained, and far more predictable. When you’re a guy…well, it simply gets away from you sometimes. Asking me to explain why at 2:17 AM a little spray hits the bathroom wall is like asking why a spring thunderstorm takes out a trailer park. Sorry about that ladies, it happens; perhaps you should have taken out flood insurance.
But…here’s the deal. On a Friday night at the pub, after you’ve had a few beers and you feel the need to release the tempest, condense the fog, talk to a man about a horse, whatever. You’re standing there minding your own business, trying to focus on yesterday’s sports page or the DUI advertising on the wall and suddenly some fucking guy stumbles in, saddles up next to you, and before you know it he’s peeing on your Tivas! Jesus, this isn’t right.
I thought about wailing on him, but he looked up all apologetic at me and then hurried out without even washing his hands. Some people’s kids. Next time I’ll wear real shoes.
You seem to have too many problems. Maybe less beer would be the answer.
Beer IS the answer. The liver is evil and must be destroyed.